


Too Close For Comfort

by Mixk



Category: Common Law
Genre: First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixk/pseuds/Mixk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this <a href="">prompt</a> on the common law meme. During one of their investigations, Travis and Wes get jumped and stuffed in the trunk of a car. The trunk is small, and they're tied up, with Travis being very snug against Wes' back. Travis is not having an easy time of it. Wes isn't either, but Travis is really, REALLY screwed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Close For Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [relatedworlds](), because she's awesome, and I wanted to gift her this. Hopefully you like it, sorry for taking so long to write it !

When Wes comes to, and opens his eyes, he's in the dark, his wrists and ankles tied together, lying on his side. And he's suffocating, sweating like a pig in his three-piece suit, crammed in what appears to be the trunk of a moving car. His kidnappers at least had the decency to remove his tie, otherwise he would have been choking for real. It takes him a second to realize that there's someone behind him, whose arms are tied around Wes' middle, their bodies completely flushed together, front to back. It is uncomfortable as all hell.

To make matters worse, Wes' mouth is covered with duct tape, so he can't speak either. He recognizes Travis' cologne though—how could he not, after years of being exposed to it?—and his suspicions are confirmed when he cranes his neck, and catches a glimpse of his partner behind him. Fuck, they're really screwed, he can't help but think. No one will think to look for them, they've been working on the case on their own, like always. 

The last thing he remembers is investigating a warehouse with Travis, where they'd found an entire shipment of counterfeit goods. It turned out to be all part of an operation that had left one dead body in its trail, a dead body that led Wes and Travis straight back to said operation. And now they're in trouble, most likely on their way to be shot and left somewhere in the desert. They're driving fast, Wes deduces they're on a high way, thus confirming Wes' suspicions about their kidnappers getting out of the city to take care of them.

Travis starts moving his feet, along with Wes', what with their ankles being tied together as well. Wes has no idea what his partner's thinking, but goes along with it, and tries to help Travis as best as he can, folding his knees at the same time as Travis. They somehow manage to kick back one of the rear headlights, and a strong fresh breeze comes through the breach, a relief for Wes who takes a deep breath. 

Travis keeps wriggling, his crotch grinding right up against Wes' ass, his hot breath ghosting over Wes' neck, and it's the worst kind of torture he thinks he can ever experience. It's bad enough that he fantasizes about his partner on a regular basis, but to actually have one of said fantasies played out    so accurately—minus the ropes and trunk—is killing him. It's a good thing Travis can't see—nor touch, thank God—Wes' raging hard-on. Travis manages to move his arms up a bit, resulting in their bodies being even closer than Wes thought possible, and next thing he knows, the tape over his mouth is removed, causing him to gasp.

"Travis, look in my pockets for my phone," Wes says, hoping to God their kidnappers haven't taken it from him—if they're any smart, they have thought to take their phones away. Travis's hands move lower, and Wes jerks his hips back when he feels them on his crotch, where his erection is very much palpable, and his eyes widen when he feels Travis' own erection against his ass. Trying to ignore that awkward moment, Wes notes that his pockets are indeed empty when Travis pats them.

"Damn it."

——————————

 

Travis has been in a lot of unbelievable situations, more than he'd like to admit, but as far as he's concerned, this one has just moved to the top. Holding his partner in his arms, bodies pressed close together, nose nuzzling that dirty blond hair? Travis has always wondered what that would feel like, and has lost many hours of his life picturing it. Of course, it had to happen like this. Nothing in Travis' life has ever been easy, and that goes especially when it involves Wes. 

His arms are wrapped around Wes' middle, wrists tied, and the trunk is too small for him to move them away from Wes. The thing is, he doesn't want to. Wes' body is as lean as it looks, and Wes smells even better up close, his body feels amazing against Travis', and he just wishes he could do this all the time. Travis figures it's the decent thing to do, to not molest your straight male partner. This is the sort of thing partnerships are ruined over, and sure, Wes may drive him crazy every day, but Travis does care about him. 

Besides, he can't really help it, what with the car jostling them around in the tiny trunk, and it's not like he can will his dick to go soft on command. It's impossible, actually, when he's basically humping his partner, and especially when said partner's incredible ass is all up in Travis' crotch. The worst part in all this is that there's no way Wes didn't notice Travis' hard cock, and it really is the only thing that sobers Travis up. It's damn right petrifying. Wes will probably never want to look him in the eye anymore. If they get to live another day, that is.  

They don't have any way to call for help, and while they managed kick one of the rear headlights off, they can't move around in the enclosed space to peer through the breach they created and locate their current position. They're going to die, and their last moments will have been spent in the trunk of a car, tied up together.

The car stops abruptly, throwing them backwards, Travis breaking Wes' collision against the back of the back of the trunk. After a few minutes of hearing gun shots and shouting outside, the trunk opens, and they're set free, saved by what turns out to be the FBI. It feels amazing to be able to stretch his sore limbs out in the cool evening air, and he stops himself just in time from wrapping his arms Wes again. After what just happened, he figures it's not appropriate to have any sort of physical contact with his partner so soon—or ever, for that matter.

In the end, they're lucky, Travis thinks. Damn well lucky, actually, and for once Travis sets his hatred of the feds aside, because they've just saved their asses. The special agents had been working on taking down the whole counterfeit operation for months, trailing and gathering information on the organization. Travis and Wes just happened to have led them directly to the HQ, like perfect unsuspecting baits. On other days, Travis might have had something to say about being used so crudely, but at the moment he doesn't care. 

The ride back to the station in one of the FBI's car is spent in silence, with no one to sit between Wes and him in the back seat, the distance between them conspicuously important. Travis steals glances at his partner, unable to get the feel of Wes' body out of his mind. There has to be a special place in hell for people like him. 

He accompanies Wes back to his hotel, and they silently agree to go get drinks at the bar, to celebrate yet another near-death experience—this one probably being the nearest of them all. They haven't spoken a word to each other since they got out of that trunk—not one—and the tension is so thick Travis can feel it in the air around them. How do they get through this? He's not even sure Dr. Ryan can be of any assistance at this point. He dry humped Wes from behind, and he _enjoyed_ it. The fucking cherry to top it all is that Wes _knows_ he enjoyed it. 

"Look, man, I'm sorry," Travis says after downing his third beer, because it's the least he could say, right? If it's the last thing he's going to say to Wes, it should be this.

"Sorry for what?" Wes asks, a frown marring his face as he turns to look at him. 

"For…you know," Travis waves his hand, pursing his lips together. "What happened back there. In the car."

"Are you, really?" Wes says, his eyes narrowing the way they do whenever Wes pretends to study him, when really he tries to call Travis on his bullshit. _Fuck._

"Of course I am, what the—"

Wes cuts him off with his lips on his, possessive and firm, hand coming up to cup Travis' cheek. Travis responds instantly, he's got too much pent up sexual frustration in him to care, and soon they're full on making out like horny teenagers. The bartender asks them to take it back to their room, and they don't need to be asked twice.

The elevator ride is spent with Travis' back pressed up against the wall, their lips locked to each other, hands traveling up each other's bodies until they reach Wes' floor. Only when Travis' back lands on Wes' bed does he wait to think about what they're about to do, as though struck by lighting.

"Wait, Wes, hold on," he breathes out while Wes lifts his shirt up, panting heavily underneath his partner's hovering figure. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"I just spent almost an hour tied up in the trunk of a car, with your dick against my ass, on our way to be shot, so, yeah, I think _this_ is a good idea," Wes retorts, hands pining Travis' shoulders down on the bed. Travis nods vigorously, and takes a deep breath as a grin breaks across his face. 

"Fair enough."

 


End file.
